A Sort of Revelation
by TheMusicalPoet
Summary: My take prefinale 2006 on what could have happened between Grissom and Sara. Contains a miniscule amount of spoilerage, but since it wasn't what REALLY happened, it's not a big deal. [PreWay To Go] R&R, if you will.


_Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. The events indicated herein do not immitate in full what has or will happen in the television series.  
Warning: This story does contain partial SPOILERS. Readers read at your own risk._

NOTE FROM AUTHOR:

Being that we were left with such a crazy cliffhanger, I thought I'd write a GSR-charge scene in honour of the final episode. It's fluffy, angsty stuff, but it's short. I hope you like it! Please R&R!  


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CSI: FINAL EPISODE  
"A Sort of Revelation"

_Captain James Brass passed away at 12:07 am on the morning of May 18th, 2006. He was a dedicated officer of the Las Vegas Police Department, a father, and a trusted and loyal friend._

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The office of Gilbert Grissom was dimly lit. It appeared much darker than usual. From inside, the sounds of the lab activity beyond its walls seemed distant. Almost comfortably so. However, despite the apparent peacefulness, there lingered about a sort of thick, melancholic tension. Simply casting one's gaze upon the scene would have made even the most hardened soul melt to tears.

After several minutes, Sara Sidle passed slowly by the door, peering in cautiously. She hoped not to disturb her heavy-hearted boss. Her heart pounded as her eyes surveyed the darkness. Her eyes were sore and puffy from crying hours of silent tears. Her muscles were tense and aching from the gripping pain she felt within her core. And yet, she could not bring herself to go to anyone else for physical comfort. Jim's death had led her into a quiet isolation. She could not account for anyone else.

But maybe, she thought, she could find solace in -- nay, provide solace for -- someone who needed it as a much as she did. Surely Grissom was... well, she didn't know. Knowing him, as little as that might have been, he must have been screaming inside.

She stood in the doorway. The sudden intensification of shadows in the office caused the hunched figure in a chair to flinch and settle. Her eyes softened as they fell upon it, her expression concerned, if not despairingly blank.

She walked forward, her footsteps loud in contrast to the timid silence that shrouded the scene. Grissom sat facing away from the entrance, his body slumped forward in the chair. His head was resting in one hand, and his glasses dangled haphazardly in the other.She kneeled down beside him placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. His eyes were closed.

"Grissom," she said, almost whispering. He breathed in slowly and turned his head towards her. His metallic blue eyes glistened when he opened them, and his lips were pursed tightly. Sara squeezed his arm, a look of deep empathetic understanding streaking across her face. "Grissom," she whispered again and impulsively wrapped her arms around him.

It would have been a strange feeling for them both (and it was, a little bit) to be so close to one another. They'd been so distanced, so cold, and so elusivebefore. But at this moment, under these circumstances, they both needed it. It only seemed right that Sara be holding, in her arms, the body of her grief-stricken boss; the body of a grieving friend.

He sat there without moving, his mind weaving in and out of reality. Everything to him seemed numb at first. It was slow-motion. It was a black and white silent movie. And now, in vivid colour with sound and sirens, everything to him just seemed to hurt. It bled. It ached. It was like the unbearable tingling one endures after a limb regains feeling after going numb.

But having someone there with him -- having Sara there with him -- seemed to dull the pain, even just a little bit. He'd kept himself alone. He'd kept himself under control. He'd kept himself bottled up and repressed. He'd kept himself away from anyone and everyone who might have been able to help him. And still, after all of his stubborn isolation, friends came to him with consolation. _She_ came to him with understanding.

"Sara," he said, finally, as she pulled away. "Sara, I-" He paused, trying not to stumble. "I didn't think he would..."

"Stop," Sara said suddenly. "Stop," she hushed him, her hand touching his cheek. "You couldn't have known what would happen. You made the right choice." She watched him intently as he sighed. She could almost feel the anguish pouring out from his whole body. She couldn't think of what more to say.

"Sara. I can't stop thinking. About everything."

"It's okay, Gris. This isn't easy. You know he would have wanted you to do what you-"

He interrupted, "That... and 'this'." He gestured between them. Her eyes flashed as thought she was trying to convince herself that his comment didn't mean what she thought it did. He continued, "We go out every day. We do our jobs. We go home. We deal with more than just evidence here, Sara. We deal with lives." He paused. "What happened to Jim could have happened to any one of us, not just police officers."

"I know. We all know that. That's part of the job."

Grissom nodded. "Mhm. But after so many years, you start to forget, as though it was nothing. Then something terrible happens and you're forced to remember just how precious life really is. How short our time seems to be." He sat back in the chair and rested his wrists on his desk, his hands folded one over the other. Sara stayed put, leaning back slightly against the desk. "You start to realize..."

"I try to never forget," Sara murmured, looking past him.

Grissom looked at her. "Then why?"

She looked suddenly straight at him. "Why what?"

He seemed to dismiss the confrontation and he looked away. The wrinkles on his face seemed to deepen as he shrank a little bit back into the chair. Sara thought he looked wildly human.

"The hardest thing to do is take a step back and look at yourself, faults and all," he said. "I look at myself. I recall how the closest thing I've had to a relationship is in my work. The closest I've been to being married was in the second grade. The closest I get to children is when they're lying dead on the slab.And the closest I get to my friends is when another one is either dying or dead." He looked back at her. "Sara, I just can't do it anymore."

She stared at him, bewilderment lodged behind her hazel eyes, though she managed to look calm and collected.He'd never opened up to her like that. She wagered he'd never opened up to anyone like that.

"You know," she said, "we're always here for you. Whenever you need us. Whenever. Wherever."

Grissom looked down at his hands and seemed to consider what she'd said. Sara assumed it was a sort of punctuation that indicated the finality of their conversation. She got up and started to leave.

"Sara, I need to know." She stopped and turned around, looking slightly anxious. He remained facing away from her. "I need to knowif it's too late."

"What?" she said, hoping for some definite clarificationGrissom stood up from his chair and walked towards her. His expression was intense and sincere. He stood very close to her. She could almost feel him. Her eyes searched for a conclusion in his. "Too late for what?"

"Us."

She stepped back a bit, awestruck. She wasn't happy, but she was far from upset. She felt like a shoot that had pushed its way up through the dirt and dust to be given a second chance to grow and flourish. She could feel sunlight; not in happiness, but in hope. It was a bright light in all the darkness that surrounded them. A light had turned on inside of her, and that no hand could ever hope to reach in and turn off.

Her expression remained serious. Her eyes took in the wonder that became him, as though the sort of force-field that had made her look away so many times before had been removed. She could see inside of him and not be afraid. And she, just as ready, opened herself up and he seemed to understand.

"I think so," she said, almost smiling as tears formed in her eyes. Grissom placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned in. The darkness around them faded as his lips touched her's with all the tenderness that could ever hope to exist.

He pulled back and they stared at one another. She grabbed his hands and squeezed gently. It was as if they had found an outlet to cope with the day's loss while releasing a great burden they'd been shouldering for years.

"Are we okay?" Sara asked.

Grissom seemed to try and smile in spite of the horrific events which continued to plague his mind. "I think we are. After all; two lives are longer than one."


End file.
